


Homeward Bound

by FidotheFinch



Series: Whumptober [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Injury, Lost - Freeform, Whumptober, but like kind of fluffy, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch
Summary: What the hell had happened?He racked his memory, but the last thing he remembered was the taste of the orange juice he had had with breakfast. It was clearly the evening now, and the few people he saw around him were bustling homeward.Home.He should get home.
Relationships: Titus | Damian Wayne's Dog & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947544
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	Homeward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEBODY implied that I would KILL TITUS during Whumptober?! I'm not that evil, am I? (We will see) ((no I'm kidding I would definitely warn for that))  
> Let's pretend this is for the "mugging" prompt for Whumptober, instead of the "lost" prompt that was supposed to be finished days ago :)
> 
> Warnings: blood, injury, concussion, one moment of implied solicited child prostitution, homophobic slurs, police officers, briefly implied domestic abuse, briefly implied animal injury  
> But this is, like, a lot softer than my usual stuff.

“Hey, kid, I think you dropped something.”

When Damian turned, he was looking down the barrel of a gun.

He frowned, unimpressed with the ruse. “I do not carry such crude weapons on myself.”

The man jabbed the barrel of the gun forward, toward him. “Shut up or you’ll figure out just how much damage my _crude_ weapons can do.”

Titus growled up at the man, and the man glanced down just long enough to lose his concentration. Damian sprang forward to attack.

* * *

Damian’s head was pounding. He groaned despite himself and tried to pry his eyes open. They wouldn’t focus as well as he would have liked, but he was pretty sure that he was not waking up anywhere familiar.

He took a moment to assess himself, before broadcasting his return to consciousness. There was a cool breeze running down his shirt, and moisture collected on the places where his bare skin had been touching the air. He wasn’t wearing his Robin gear; that narrowed things down, at least. He didn’t hear anybody near him, either, so risked opening his eyes.

Even as they fought to bring the world into focus, he couldn’t figure out where he was.

There were spindly branches above him, silhouettes against a rapidly-darkening sky. The air smelled of damp earth and decaying leaves; autumnal. He could hear birds chirping, all around him, the low hum of traffic beneath that. A lamppost somewhere past his feet flickered on.

He levered himself up with his elbows. He was sitting on a soft patch of ground. When he lifted a hand to his head to stop the beating there, he found dried blood and several blades of grass in his hair.

What the hell had happened?

He racked his memory, but the last thing he remembered was the taste of the orange juice he had had with breakfast. It was clearly the evening now, and the few people he saw around him were bustling homeward.

Home.

He should get home.

With some work, he managed to get himself all the way to his feet, not even needing more than a single tree to catch his balance when he wobbled on tingly legs. He had been out of it long enough to let his limbs fall asleep, at least.

He reached for his phone; Richard would be worried about him by now, surely. But when he got the device from his pocket, a pit dropped in his stomach. The screen was cracked, and when he tried to press the button on the side, it read “Critical Low Battery,” and turned off again.

He would never hear the end of this.

He sighed, tucking the phone back into his pocket so he could harvest its spare parts for later. He would just have to walk, then, until he found a bus stop – or train station – or ferry – that could take him home. And maybe he would figure out where he is, too.

The pavement he had woken next to stretched off in two directions, and he randomly chose one and walked. It wasn’t like it would make much difference, since he expected it to be a long night, anyway. But as he took his first few steps, he staggered sideways.

Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought. His hand found the bleeding again, and with searching fingers he found a large knot on the back of his head, where the flesh had swelled. Looking around, it didn’t look like he had hit his head on the pavement, and there had not been a significant amount of blood in the grass where he had gotten up. Maybe he had hit his head, and moved before passing out?

It didn’t matter, now.

The air was getting colder, and he hadn’t brought a jacket with him. He didn’t want to spend the night outside, so he quickened his step.

A familiar tinkling followed him down the path. He turned, too abruptly for his failing sense of balance, and nearly fell into his loyal friend.

“Titus,” Damian breathed. The dog whined at him. He was limping, one of his front paws held up. Damian knelt next to the dog and took his injured paw. “What did you do?”

He carefully felt around the pad and found no thorns or irritants, but when he felt around the knee Titus yelped in pain.

Damian hushed him. “I apologize,” he whispered. He rose to his feet again. “I will have Pennyworth take a look at you when we return.” As he tried to rise, another wave of dizziness hit him, and he fell backward, nearly hitting his head again.

“Hey, kid!”

Damian whipped his head around to the source of the noise. A man was walking toward him, down the path. Damian hadn’t heard him approaching.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, then stopped short as he spotted the blood on Damian’s head. “Oh, man.”

Damian waved a hand over his shoulder flippantly and rose to his feet. “I am fine.” Gotham citizens weren’t usually so. . . hospitable, and Damian couldn’t help being suspicious of him. Damian would deal with this on his own. “I am on my way home.”

“Are your parents around? I don’t think you should be—”

A hand landed on Damian’s shoulder, and without thinking he tugged the man down and around into an arm lock. “Don’t touch me,” he warned.

The man’s breath caught. “Let go of me!”

Damian blinked, and he released the man’s hand. The man stood to his full height, rubbing his wrist where it had been bent at an awkward angle. His eyes were wide, now, with something like fear. “H-hey, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Damian stepped back unevenly, and Titus stepped in front of him. His ears pressed flat to his head and his teeth glinted in the light form the lamppost. A warning growl emitted from his muzzle.

The man, wisely, backed away, hands held high.

Damian watched him move away until he was satisfied with the distance between them. Then he clicked his tongue, and Titus’s posture shifted as he glanced back to Damian. “Come, Titus,” Damian called. He mustered enough energy to make his voice steady and commanding.

Titus gave one sharp bark to the man before turning tail and obediently following Damian down the opposite path.

They didn’t make it out of earshot before he heard the man pull his phone out. “Yeah, I’m Robinson Park. I think I’ve found a homeless kid.”

Damian wasn’t close enough to tell whether the man was calling the police, and he certainly didn’t want to be dragged into another kidnapping. He forced his feet to move faster, and he ran.

The man had said something about Robinson Park, right? That put Damian almost an hour’s walk from the penthouse, and that was assuming he was moving in the right direction.

He tried navigating with the stars, but there was too much light pollution; the one star he thought he had found turned out to be a plane.

“Where are we,” he asked Titus.

The dog huffed, but despite Damian’s greatest wish, was not able to respond.

Moving at all was better than staying in place. He would be able to figure out where he was when he got out of the park.

The walk felt like hours. Whether it was fatigue, or dehydration, or his concussion, the world would slant sideways occasionally, tripping him up until Titus’s warm flank would help steady him. His mouth was incredibly dry, and his stomach empty. He grimaced when they got too close to any lamplights, as the glow would make the icepick in his head dig harder. It was better that they stay away from the walking paths, anyway; as it grew dark, the people wandering the park became, in Richard’s words, “shadier.”

He could smell the road before he could see it. Hot asphalt, gasoline, and spent cigarettes wafted from beyond the tasteful brick ledge cornering the park from the rest of the city. The sun had set completely by the time he reached the road beyond.

He reached the sidewalk and peered up at the stared up at the street signs, trying to make sense of them. To his great frustration, his brain refused to make words from the letters. There were still a handful of cars idling at the stoplight. One of them blasted bass music loud enough Damian could feel it under his feet. The more tasteful lilt of classical music spilled out from a different car.

One car pulled up to the curb next to him. Damian couldn’t make out the shadowed face of the man driving, but he knew enough to be wary when he asked, “How much?”

Damian shook his head, despite how it made the world spin. As Robin, he would have taken him out on sight. As Damian, all he could react with was a “No,” as pointedly disgusted as he could make it.

“Faggot,” the man sneered.

Damian didn’t have time to reply before a cup burst against his chest, soaking his shirt and pants in ice-cold slush. His gasp was lost under the squeal of tires as the car pulled away. He didn’t have the thought to memorize his license plate until he was too far away.

The light was green, and cars raced by faster that Damian could track, though he was beginning to think that reflected more on himself than their driving habits. The movement paired with the sticky-sweet cherry smell from the ICEE was making him nauseous.

Titus licked the syrup from his bare wrist in commiseration. His tongue was warm against the cooling night air.

Damian shivered, the breeze from the handful of passing cars cooling his wet clothes even more. He needed to get inside soon, or he risked hypothermia.

He waited until there were no cars before crossing the street, and he walked another block, parallel to the park, before finding a small store and slipping inside.

The heat was a blessing, but the lighting was harsh enough he had to squint. Damian’s fingers tingled as they warmed up, and he perused the small aisles for something warm to wear for several minutes.

“No dogs.”

Damian looked up, and the cashier, who was the only other person in the store, had finally looked up from their magazine.

“He has excellent behavior,” he started.

She rolled her eyes. “Out.” She pointed toward the door.

Damian scowled. He wanted to protest more, but he couldn’t summon the brain power for it. “Very well.” He gave her his best glare on his way past.

Leaving the store was difficult, as the outside temperature felt even colder when he hadn’t had time to acclimate to it.

He shoved his numb hands in his wet pockets. His wallet was missing; he could not have purchased anything, anyway.

He voiced his thoughts out loud as he walked down the street, more to keep warm than with a destination in mind. “If my wallet is gone, somebody may have taken it,” he mused. “I may have been the victim of a mugging.” He felt for that tender place on his head again and winced. “Gone wrong.”

Titus loped along next to him, ears high and alert for any sign of danger.

Damian lost track of time and how many blocks he had walked before he spotted the bus stop. Inside the sheltered benches was a large map. “Titus, look,” he mumbled. Titus did not look, but wrapped himself around Damian’s legs, watching his six o’clock while Damian studied the graphic.

It took far too long for him to find the “You are Here” star, and then he couldn’t make sense of the rest of the lines and letters. They seemed to float around his point of focus, blurred around the edges.

“We’ve got him,” somebody said. A radio blipped. _Acknowledged_. _Over_.

Damian turned around when a shadow fell over him. It was a police officer, wearing a sympathetic smile. “Hey, kid.”

Damian didn’t reply, looking him up and down. When he saw his hand resting against where Damian knew his Taser to be, he tutted. “You are not going to Tase me, are you?”

The officer’s hand flexed, then relaxed, but didn’t move from the position. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

Damian shook his head as much as he dared. “You are the one approaching me.” He turned back toward the map in dismissal.

“Got a name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Where are you headed?”

“None of your business.”

“Look,” and the officer stepped toward him, but Titus growled. “Somebody called in some kid acting confused and wandering the city.”

Damian’s shoulders tensed. “I am not _confused_.”

“Easy, there. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Damian turned again and crossed his arms. He hated to admit it was more for the warmth than for the intimidation. “Please go on your way. I do not require your assistance.”

The officer whistled under his breath. “That’s a nice bruise you’ve got there. Did you get in a fight?”

Damian’s hand flew to a second, slightly less painful knot on his forehead, but it was too late. The officer had seen.

Damian had been there long enough. The last thing he needed was to be forced into a physical examination. Without saying anything, he moved to duck around the officer and excuse himself.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Wait a minute, young man.”

Damian stiffened, and the hold relaxed but didn’t release. “Titus, heel,” he commanded, stopping the pending attack. He gave the officer what he hoped was a measured look. “Let go of me.”

“Is there some place I can take you? Do you need a ride home?”

Damian hesitated, and the officer jumped on it. “I can give you a ride in the squad car. I’ll let you try the sirens.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but despite the patronizing, he asked, “and my dog?”

“We’ll call animal patrol to take him to a shelter, and you can go pick him up—”

“No.”

“He’ll be safe, you have my word.”

“Titus stays with me.” The dog sneered at the officer from where he sat by Damian’s feet, clearly still a threat should the officer choose to lunge.

The officer looked at the dog, and back up. He released Damian’s shoulder, and Damian would feel more relieved if it didn’t make him feel less steady on his feet. “If something happened at home, you can report it—”

“ _Nothing_ happened.” Not that he remembered, anyway. Damian’s chin rose. “I will return myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, son.”

Damian didn’t think; he bolted.

“Hey!” The officer shouted, giving chase.

Damian breathed harder, through the nausea and the pain flaring in his head. His blood was roaring in his ears. He demanded his body move _faster_.

Titus guided him, a second, ghostlier mirror-Titus weaving in and out of his body. The loyal dog stuck exactly to Damian’s pace so they wouldn’t lose each other. The streets at this pace looked more familiar, and Damian thought he recognized an alley opening ahead. “Left,” he directed, and Titus ducked into the alley, as instructed.

“We’ve got a runner.” He could hear the officer behind him huffing into his radio. “I’m going to need backup.” He was gaining ground; Damian was lagging.

He had just slipped into the alleyway when Titus pivoted around, barking angrily at the officer.

“Titus,” Damian wheezed. The world spun around him, and he had to brace himself against a grimy brick wall. “Come here.”

But the dog _ignored_ him. In fact, Titus suddenly lunged forward, out of his sight, and the officer shouted.

Titus yelped.

“No,” Damian moaned.

He had to keep running. He couldn’t let the officer take him. He couldn’t remember why, but there had been a reason. . .

He stumbled down the alley, turning blindly around corners until he found himself back out on a dark street. There were a few lights on in the windows above him, but not a soul in sight.

Damian’s head felt like it would split in two, like there was a wedge being driven between the hemispheres of his brain with every thump of his heart. He squinted through the darkness until he made out the shape of stairs, leading down toward a basement floor and locked door. It would at least get him out of the wind.

He got two steps down before he tripped over his own feet, flipping down the last six.

He allowed himself to groan at the bottom, feeling all the new places that stung and throbbed.

He must have hit his head again, because he had to blink black spots out of his eyes as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself (his arm, at least, was definitely broken) to the corner under the stairs.

He curled his knees up and tucked his head down, conserving as much body heat as possible.

He blacked out.

Something wet was tugging on his face.

Damian scrunched his nose. There was still a dull ringing in his ears.

No.

That was whining.

Prying his eyelids open felt more difficult than lifting the Batmobile. The world swayed, and he immediately had to shut them again.

“Titus,” he whispered. And it did _not_ sound like a whine. “I am alright.”

Titus continued licking his face, nuzzling his nose underneath Damian’s arms so he could get a better look.

“Damian?”

Damian tensed.

“Damian!”

There were feet pounding down the short stairway. “Alfred! I found him!”

Damian winced at the noise. It was much, much too loud.

“Damian,” Richard breathed again. His voice dropped into something much softer. “Can you look at me?”

Damian lifted his head with gargantuan effort, and lifted his eyelids again.

Richard’s face swam into focus, a deep wrinkle in his forehead. He gasped, when he saw the lump on Damian’s forehead. “What _happened_ to you?” he asked. His hand rose to the lump’s twin on the back of his head and lightly brushed away some of the grime.

It had grown more tender since last night. Like it had opened a floodgate, Damian was suddenly bombarded with all of the aches and pains of the night before. His left arm and head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, slightly syncopated.

Richard clicked his tongue, and leaned back to shout up the stairs. “He hit his head.”

“Oh, dear.” Pennyworth must have been standing at the higher level, but Damian couldn’t look that high up for fear of getting lost in the nausea. “And he is soaking wet. I will fetch a change of clothes from the car.”

As Pennyworth’s voice got distant, Richard leaned in closer. “We’re going to get you home, okay?” He didn’t wait for Damian to acknowledge him; he slipped his arms under Damian’s knees and behind his back and lifted him smoothly. “It’s okay.”

Damian tutted, but even he could admit it lacked his usual passion.

Richard tucked Damian’s head under his chin as he walked up the stairs, and though it was an awkward angle Damian was thankful for the body heat he was able to absorb from it.

Titus followed right at Dick’s feet, not taking his big brown eyes off Damian for a second. He was still limping.

Richard must have caught him looking, because he explained, “Animal Control found the chip, called us out here to pick him up. He wouldn’t stop whining until we followed him.”

Damian reached down to pat Titus’s head with his good hand. “Good boy, Titus.”

Pennyworth fussed over him until he was in clean, dry clothes. The heat was already blasting in the car, and Damian immediately felt himself melting into the seat beneath him.

Richard would not let go. Titus collapsed in his lap in a furry, warm heap.

Damian wouldn’t have it any other way. He was finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Lazy ending? Perhaps. Did I kill the dog? No <3


End file.
